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Chicago. Train. Sunset.

A stranger on a crowded train
bears my weight silently
as the force of forty commuters
presses me into her side.
This odd moment of intimacy is heightened
when she moves the yoga mat
and pulls from her nylon bag
a small journal; green-bound,
worn pages gold-foiled about the edge.

This obvious treasure
is not hoarded nor kept close.
It is instead held open,
almost under my nose.
She sees my eyes reach for her pages,
then cringe back to honor privacy.
She smiles and flips each sheet slowly.
Show and tell. Seduction.
An anonymous gift.

I let myself see just headings.
I let myself notice
that this smudged and sacred tome
is made of only two materials:
Lists, whose first lines bark “To Do”
(and thus progress proudly in scribbles and triumphant cross-thrus)
or lists crowned in a script that sings,
“Things That Are Wonderful”.

She lingers on the latter,
rushes through the former,
passes a loving finger over sketches
of mittens, boats, stars
or other images that tell some story of her life
I cannot begin to comprehend.

Inside the back cover
she’s glued in an article about the Dali Lama
and I like this.
I like her.
I wonder at this wisdom I’ve been given;

to create books of lists of things that are wonderful.

Things That Are Wonderful.
Name them, sketch them,
live them, paint them on your skin.
Write them out until your brain is dry
then turn the page and mark it
“More Things That Are Wonderful”
and begin again.
Cease weaving this list
only to reread and remind;
to sit in presence
at the table of gratitude
and feast on the marrow of life.



( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
(Deleted comment)
Jun. 17th, 2011 07:10 pm (UTC)
Thank you so much darlin'. :)
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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